Just Trying to Make It
by Shinbi
Summary: Sequel to "Bitter," -- Read first, otherwise this one makes little sense.


JUST TRYING TO MAKE IT

It'd been one year since Shoua's death, one year since Ken had picked up the phone at 2 am and heard the words he'd prayed he'd never hear. 

_Shoua's been shot_. 

It was senior year, and Ken had begged his parents to allow him to stay in San Francisco and finish high school at San Juan High, but they'd firmly refused, telling him that Eden Hall would give him a much better education and a better chance at top tier colleges. Screw that, Ken had thought. All he wanted was to be with people who understood him. Kids who came from first generation households but wanted to be American. Kids who knew what it was like to feel torn between two worlds. Kids who didn't care what you looked like as long as you were yourself. 

Shoua was gone. Dead. Shot. It pained Ken to think about his friend, to think about what it must've been like to feel the bullet hit and penetrate, to think about what Shoua's siblings were going through. He thought time would lessen hurt, but it only made it worse. And with the hurt came anger. Anger at the police, anger at whites, anger at Shoua…he didn't know anymore. Didn't know who to be angry at. And worse, he didn't know how to stop it. He wanted to have some sort of control, wanted to feel that he could lessen the pain somehow, but there was no way to. There was no way to stop the anger, the hurt and the guilt.

Room assignments were posted at the entrance to the residence halls, and Ken almost passed them by. After all, it didn't really matter to him who his roommate was. He'd pretty much driven all his teammates off last year, so he could count on a cool reception from all of them. Not like he cared. He'd stepped over the line between pride and arrogance a long time ago, and he was in no mood to go back. Just for kicks, though, he stopped to look at the list. Maybe if he saw the name, he could guess exactly what their reaction would be when he stepped into the room. If it was Charlie or Adam, they'd say hi, maybe skirt the racism issue, then leave. If it was anyone else, they'd probably just ignore him.

He had to do a double take when he saw the name posted next to his.

Xen Lee-freshman.

14-year-old Xen Lee was sitting on his bed, sorting through pictures of his siblings, when the door opened. He didn't look up; he figured it was some white prep who'd been assigned to be his roommate. He hadn't even bothered to look at the list; this school was all white preps, so his roommate was bound to be one too, right?

"Xen?" Rolling his eyes, Xen lowered the pictures. He felt a jolt of surprise when he saw who was standing in front of him, but he covered quickly, and the surprise melted quickly into anger and resentment.

"So you're my roommate, huh?" he said, going back to his pictures. He couldn't stand looking at the person in front of him, because all it did was remind him of his brother's misfortune, his brother's bad luck, his brother's death. Shoua was dead and Ken was still alive. It was irrational, but it was how he felt.

"Yeah."

"Well, you'll forgive me for not being all open arms and smiles," he replied. If Ken was surprised by his sharp tone, he didn't show it. He simply turned to his bags and started unpacking. Xen watched him for a moment, torn between the need for someone to help him be strong and the desire to be strong on his own. Ken had been Shoua's only friend at Eden Hall, and Xen felt that by turning him away, he would be betraying his brother. 

But why trust him? Xen thought to himself, turning his eyes back to the pictures in his hands. He's still like all the other preps. Rich, cared for and soft. He didn't know anything about real life, about how hard and cruel it could be. He was Chinese, which Xen had nothing against, but the Chinese, the Koreans, the Japanese, they were the model minority. Xen had never felt as though western Asians could relate to what he and his friends had to put up with. People looked down on the southeastern Asians because they were so different, because they came with no money, because they came as refugees. 

Xen blinked back tears as he stared at a picture of Shoua. If only his brother hadn't died, perhaps things would have been different. 

A week later, Xen found himself wondering how Shoua hadn't gone utterly insane at this school. It was white, white, white and more white, and he'd already been given a hard time by some seniors because he had "looked at them the wrong way." The teachers weren't much better; Xen figured it'd be a miracle if he got an A in anything. The way these teachers worked, anyone who wasn't a white prep was bad news and couldn't succeed. 

It was late on a Friday night, and Xen wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep, but he had two papers he knew he should start while they were still fresh in his mind, and he could practically hear Shoua berating him: "Do your homework early, Xen. Don't put it off, 'cause that's the best way to screw yourself over." Groaning, he sat down at his desk and pulled out the rubrics for the papers. He was so deep in thought that when the door opened and Ken stepped in, he barely reacted.

"Hey." Xen started slightly and glanced up.

"Why're you here?" 

"Uh…this is my dorm?" The answer came back as a question.

"Yeah, but it's a Friday night. Don't you preps have parties to go to and stuff?" Xen asked. He didn't say it maliciously, just bitterly.

"I'm not a prep," Ken replied with a half-grin.

"Coulda fooled me."

"Come on, man. Cut me some slack. I'm Asian too."

"Yeah, on the outside."

"You don't even know me, Xen." Long pause. Ken tossed his backpack onto his own bed and sat down on the floor, leaning against the bedframe.

"Look, man, you think I would have hung out with your brother if I was white on the inside? More to the point, you think Shoua would have even come within a hundred feet of me if I was white on the inside?" he said, stretching out his legs in front of him and resting his head back on the mattress. 

"No," Xen answered truthfully after a moment's hesitation. Ken lifted up his head and looked pointedly at the youngster from his vantage point across the room. Xen got the message, and looked down for a moment, feeling a little defeated. His façade wouldn't work here, he realized that now. Ken could see right through him, knew exactly how to break that wall he'd worked so hard to build. Xen wanted to be angry at him for that, but his miserable little heart was more intent right now on self-loathing than anger.

"Can I see your pictures?" 

"Huh?" Xen wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Can I see your pictures? You know, of your siblings and stuff," Ken repeated. 

"Uh…" 

"I mean, if it's too personal, I understand, but…Shoua was always talking about you guys and all the things you did and stuff," Ken explained, sensing Xen's discomfort.

"Uh…sure. I guess." Xen got up from his desk, picked up the pile of photographs from his bed and joined Ken on the other side of the room.

"This is Xee. He's 10 now, but he was 9 when this was taken," he said, holding up the first photo, a glossy school print. Framed by a dark blue background, Xee's thin face with the radiant smile beamed up at the two young men.

"Soccer?" Ken asked, seeing the next picture. Xen smiled a little.

"Yeah, Xee's into sports. Soccer and basketball and football. He's good, too," he explained. The next picture was of Deng, taken a year after the murder. Xen felt his throat tighten a little. His youngest brother looked so old, so unhappy, even in posed pictures. 

"How's he holding up?" Ken asked, startling Xen a little. When he answered, his voice was hoarse.

"Not good. He has a lot of problems, and he has nightmares too." Ken nodded, face serious.

"And I don't suppose the school system is doing anything to help, huh?" he asked. Xen shook his head.

"Nada." 

"That's so stupid." Long silence, in which Xen flipped through a few more pictures of Deng doing various things—playing soccer, fooling around with Xee, playing outside.

"Mary's the oldest girl, right?" Ken asked, seeing the picture of a young girl in Xen's hands.

"Yeah, she's two years younger than me."

"And Koua is the younger one, and then Kia," Ken affirmed.

"Geez, how much did Shoua tell you?" Xen asked, grinning in spite of himself.

"A lot," Ken replied, "He was always so proud of the stuff you guys did." Xen nodded, remembering all the times he'd come home with different awards and Shoua congratulating him with dinner out or a movie night.

"This is Chue," Xen continued, picking up another picture, this one a family picture, cropped to show Xen, Shoua, and Chue, "He's less than a year younger than me."

"And this is Kou. He's between Mary and Xee." Ken looked over the last two pictures.

"They all holding up well?" he asked. Xen shrugged.

"As well as can be expected." He put the photos back in order and placed them on his desk.

"Thanks for letting me see them," Ken said. Xen glanced over at him and saw that he was sincere.

"No problem. Maybe some weekend we can go over and visit them. They'd probably love to have you over, especially Kia and Deng," he said with a small smile.

"How about next weekend? I don't have anything going on," Ken suggested. Xen thought for a moment. He'd have to work a double shift on Friday if he wanted Saturday off, but he could manage that. He took double shifts all the time.

"Yeah, okay. Saturday afternoon. Xee and Kou have got soccer practice in the morning." Ken shook his head and laughed a little.

"I'm glad one of us can keep them straight."

Ken was glad he had scheduled something for the weekend, because he was really having trouble getting motivated. He had almost nothing to look forward to these days. Just school, college applications, and oh yeah, hockey practice on top of everything else. 

Everything and everyone had changed over the past four years. Including him. It was the Friday night before he and Xen were going over to north Minneapolis, and he was standing in front of the mirror, looking at himself, wondering how it was possible that people still recognized him. Since freshman year, he'd grown about five and a half inches, much taller than his mother, and almost as tall as his father; tall for a Chinese man. His hair was cut shorter and he'd added a few brown highlights just for fun. He'd filled out in terms of size, too. Freshman year he was all skin and bones, just a scrawny Asian kid with nothing to show. Three summers of weightlifting, running, and swimming had shot and buried that image. His chest was broader, his shoulders more pronounced, his legs able to take him 4 miles in 20 minutes. Two summers of playing soccer with his friends back in San Francisco had helped him to toughen up, and on top of everything else, he was jaded. He was bitter. He was angry. 

"Ken?" Someone knocked on his dorm door, and Ken could tell by the voice that it wasn't Xen.

"Yeah, it's open." Charlie Conway stepped into the room, and Ken's defenses were up in an instant. The way things had ended last year, Ken knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Can I talk to you?" Like I have a choice, Ken thought, fooling absentmindedly with some things on his desk.

"Yeah." 

"Look, I know things have been rough since Shoua got shot, but hangin' with his brother is walking the line," Charlie said after a moment. Ken wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"What?"

"Ken, everyone knows Xen's trouble, and I don't think-"

"Well, everyone can go f*ck themselves," Ken exclaimed, turning around to face him, "Just 'cause he's Hmong, doesn't mean he's bad news." 

"Ken, I didn't say—"

"Yeah, but that's what you were thinking. You're thinking, He's Hmong, so he's probably a gang member, and he carries a gun and does drugs and sh*t like that," Ken cut him off. He was seeing red now, so angry that he wanted to punch Charlie in the face. 

"Damn it, Ken, does everything have to be about race?" Charlie was on his feet now.

"Those guys who shot Shoua were white." Both young men turned to see Xen standing calmly in the doorway. His eyes were cold with fury, but everything else about him was marked with self-control.

"Everything in our world is about race," he continued, "Because that's how people like you made it." Charlie was furious, and Ken was worried that he was going to have an all-out fistfight on his hands.

"You bastard, you think every single white person is racist?" Xen scowled at him.

"At least I don't have to play guessing games," he replied.

"Then that makes you just as racist as they are!" Charlie was yelling now.

"Bullsh*t! You think we're racist just because we're scared sh*tless of white kids?" Ken finally found his voice. Charlie hesitated, looking a little confused.

"Yeah, that's right. We're scared. We don't hate on kids like you just for the fun of it. We keep you at arm's length 'cause we're scared you're gonna stab us in the back first chance you get," Xen said, seeing the confusion on Charlie's face.

"And more often than not, we're right," Ken interjected, staring his teammate straight in the eyes. Charlie glared back at him for a moment.

"Fine," he said suddenly, "F*ck this. F*ck you." And he was gone. 

Ken let out a sharp breath and shoved his hands through his hair. Xen eyed him warily, wondering if he'd done the wrong thing by throwing in his two cent's worth.

"I'm sorry if I just lost you a friend," he said after a moment. Ken glanced at him.

"No, I'm glad you jumped in, else I might've just let it slide." There was something unreadable in his friend's eyes that made Xen think maybe this was a real issue for Ken.

"Looks to me like you're having a rough time of it," he commented. Ken nodded slowly.

"I don't know where I stand anymore, you know?" Xen nodded. Yeah, he knew. Being pulled in so many different directions—white, yellow, gang, student, parents, friends—was something he'd dealt with all his life. 

"I understand. Look, let's get out of here. We can go over to my house tonight and stay there. Just get away from all this," Xen suggested, gesturing ambiguously around the room. Ken looked as though he'd not heard a better idea in his life.

"Yeah, I like the sound of that."

As Ken drove, he found himself lost in thought. Why was it, that just when he was starting to find his feet, someone had to come and pull the rug out from under him?

It had all started with the L.A. riots, Ken knew that much. He and his family had lived in L.A. for about five years before the '92 riots broke out and had witnessed the escalating racial tensions from their vantage point in a white, middle-class suburb. He had been…what, 10? 11? He'd seen everything on the news, and the images of burning shops and gun-wielding shopkeepers had been permanently etched in his memory. He didn't remember feeling any connection to either side, he just remembered seeing Asian faces and Black faces, spitting angry words at eachother. He'd asked his mother one day after the riots what "chink" meant. Her explanation had only set him to wondering why kids at school called him "chink" and other things. He had thought he was American, not Chinese.

After the riots, they moved to San Francisco, and the race issue sort of disappeared. Ken had hung out with kids from all over the place—Mexico, China, Korea, Japan, Philippines, U.S—and never thought twice about it. Only when he got to Eden Hall did it again become a problem. Ken had found himself wishing more and more often that his eyes were round and blue, his skin paler, face narrower. 

And now this. 

"This is it," Xen said, pointing out a modest, split-level on the left side of the street. Ken pulled up behind two Hondas in the driveway.

"My cousins'," Xen explained, motioning to the cars as they got out, "They're really into cars." Ken nodded.

The instant they stepped inside, Xen was mobbed by several younger siblings. They all chattered excitedly in Hmong, although mixed in were a few words of English, and Xen answered easily in Hmong or English, depending on what they were asking. After they were over their initial excitement at having their oldest brother home so early, their attention turned to Ken, who felt slightly awkward. Xen picked up the youngest girl, who looked to be about 5.

"This is Kia," he said, "She's 5."

"And a half!" Kia exclaimed, hitting her brother on the shoulder, "Five and a half!" Xen grinned and set her down, saying something in Hmong to her. Her demeanor immediately became shy, but she approached Ken and stuck out her right hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said shyly. Ken shook her hand, feeling less awkward with each passing moment. 

"Hey, are you Hmong?" Someone latched themselves onto his leg, and he looked down to see—he guessed—Deng, hanging onto his jeans, grinning up at him.

"Not too shy, are you?" he asked. Deng shook his head and Xen laughed a little.

"Deng's not shy at all," he said.

"No, I'm not Hmong," Ken replied.

"Are you sure?" Deng asked, peering up at him and squinting his eyes, trying to scrutinize his face. Ken laughed.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Once everyone had been introduced, the younger siblings started pulling Ken towards their rooms, telling him about all the things they wanted to show him, while Chue, Xen, and Mary tried to get everyone settled down for dinner.

"It's always like this," Chue told him as they were setting the table, "They've got way too much energy and no one to calm them down." Behind the cheerfulness in the 13-year-old's eyes, Ken could see the fatigue, and he felt a pang of guilt and anger. Thirteen-year-old kids were supposed to be out having fun and playing sports. They weren't supposed to have to worry about raising their siblings. 

"Hey, come sit by me!" Deng was pulling again on Ken's jeans, and he gladly followed the little one partway around the table.

"Hey, no fair!" Kia exclaimed, pouting. Deng stuck his tongue out at her, and Kia mirrored the action.

"Cut it out, you two…" Chue chided them gently, sliding into Hmong, perhaps without even realizing it. Evidently, he solved the problem, because Kia quit pouting.

Dinner consisted mostly of Hmong food, which Ken was not unfamiliar with. Deng and Xee started a food fight, which wasn't that big of a deal until Xee accidentally hit Kou in the head with a piece of egg roll and Kou fired back with a bigger piece. Xen just rolled his eyes across the table at his friend and told his brothers to cut it out. 

After dinner, they all settled down to watch a movie. Ken found himself sitting comfortably on the sofa next to Xen and Chue. The younger ones sat on the floor, jockeying occasionally for position and fidgeting now and then.

As the hour grew later, Ken observed that the younger kids were getting sleepy. He himself was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and when he glanced at his watch, he saw it was nearly 11:00. Just as he started to drift off, though, he felt the sofa shift beneath him, then a presence at his right shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw, wedged between him and Chue was Deng, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"Can I sleep here?" he asked. Ken smiled at him and nodded.

"Of course." The little boy smiled sleepily and laid his head down in Ken's lap, his small body curled up next to him. Ken felt his throat tighten a little. This kid had seen hell, and he wasn't even ten years old yet. He reached out and laid a gentle hand on the boy's head, feeling protective of him, as if Deng were his own brother.

An hour later, Xen's aunt and uncle came home from work to find all seven of their nieces and nephews plus Ken asleep on the couch. 

When Ken woke up the next morning, it took him a second to get his bearings. He became aware immediately of Deng, curled up against him, and Kia, sleeping in between him and Xen, her head resting on her brother's chest. Chue's head rested against Ken's shoulder, and Ken noticed that he looked a lot younger when he was asleep. 

"This doesn't happen very often." Xen's quiet voice broke into Ken's thoughts.

"What's that?"

"Deng usually has nightmares," Xen explained, "Wakes up screaming and sweating." Ken looked down at the little boy asleep next to him and briefly touched his hair.

"He must be really comfortable with you," Xen continued. Ken smiled a little and then yawned.

"What time is it?"

"About eight. Kou and Xee have practice at eleven, so they can sleep for awhile longer." Ken observed that his friend was avoiding any major movement so as not to disrupt Kia. 

"They all slept really well," Xen said after a moment, "I think they really like having you around." Ken glanced around at the other children on the floor.

"You sure it's not just having you home?" he asked. Xen nodded.

"Yeah. Whenever I'm around, they get really worked up." He smoothed Kia's hair a little, and something about the gesture reminded Ken strongly of Shoua. Xen didn't look much like his older brother. Shoua had been taller, with broader shoulders and a medium complexion. Xen was small, lanky, and dark-skinned from being outside. But their demeanors were similar. Shoua had always been dangerously protective of his siblings, and now Xen was assuming that role as protector, because otherwise, these kids had no one. 

"I'm hungry." Deng was awake, and smiling sleepily up at Ken, who returned the smile.

"You're always hungry," Mary grumbled from her spot on the floor.

"It's not morning yet. It can't be…" Chue grumbled, briefly lifting his head from Ken's shoulder, then groaning in apparent frustration and setting his head back down. Ken reminded himself that Chue was only 13, barely a teenager. Beneath the mature exterior, he was just a kid like the rest of them.

"What've you got in the way of breakfast food?" Ken asked his friend, "I can start something if they're hungry." Xen smiled a little and shook his head.

"Nah, I'll do it. You can help, though." He gently deposited the still-sleeping Kia on the couch and got up, looking tired, but well-rested. The two friends headed into the kitchen, where Xen rummaged through the fridge and cabinets for decent breakfast food.

"Well…we got cereal and eggs…" he muttered, more to himself than to Ken, "uh…waffles? Man…these look old…" Ken looked over what Xen had managed to dig up so far and wondered how these kids ever got a decent, healthy meal. He picked up a carton of eggs and a bag of bread. Scrambled eggs and french toast were easy enough.

They settled the other kids around the table and served them as the food became available. Deng and Kia ate the most, asking for seconds and thirds. Chue ate very little, and Ken wondered if this was a habit. He asked Xen about it as they were clearing the table.

"Chue's a light eater. But he's gotten worse about it since the murder. Sometimes he doesn't eat for a day or so. And I can't get him to." Xen cast a concerned glance over at his brother, who was herding the younger ones to their rooms to change and wash up. 

"I worry a lot about Chue. He goes to Anwatin, and there's a lot of gang stuff going on over there," he said, leaning back against the counter, "The kids there keep pressuring him to join." Ken sat down at the table and helped himself to a banana.

"Can't you get him into Fulton or something?"

"Not now. We tried earlier, but the magnet program was full, and I don't want him in the open program." Ken felt a wave of anger and frustration wash over him. Xen was a freshman in high school. He shouldn't have to be worrying about things like getting his brother into a good school. 

"Xen, can you come help with the kids?" Chue came rushing into the kitchen, looking exasperated. 

"Yeah." 

"I can help too," Ken offered. Chue looked as if he'd never heard a better suggestion.

"Kou and Xee need to get to practice. Could you…I mean…no, maybe that's too much—" Chue bit down on his lower lip, looking defeated.

"You want me to take them to practice?" 


End file.
